This is fine. It's fine. We're fine.

[sharpasanarrow]

[Well that was.

Something.

Underneath everyone’s door they’ll find a slip of paper, in shaky calligraphy, that reads:

INVITATION

Meet in the Dining Room.

Do not bring alcohol of any sort.

Upon arrival into the Dining Room it’s clear that this is very much...not a party.

The center of the room is cleared of all tables, and instead has all the chairs arranged in a circle, facing inwards. On the tables pushed to the side are jugs of water, cups, plates of saltines, and several hastily-made pamplets that read on the front ”How to cope with Child homicide” that contains an advisory list:

1. Try not to think about it.
2. Do not get hysterical.
3. Crying is permitted, but keep it within a reasonable volume. (For the consideration of fellow mourners)
4. Maintain civility
5. Do not plunder the belongings of the deceased.
6. No drinking or gambling your sorrows away. Set an example.

Standing in front of one of the chairs already is Mr.Arrow. He clears his throat as people start to slowly come in.]

I gathered you all here because I believed it would be conductive to group morale if we all worked through our feelings regarding recent events. Talk about your feelings with one another, but not with me.

[He steps back a little, out of the circle of chairs, in what seems to be an invitation for people to sit down and discuss with one another.]

Comments

[holdthetrumpet]

Mmhm.

[They can both be bad at talking together.

See, up until he showed up here, the worst hardship Kit ever had to endure was not being able to figure out who left a shoe at his house. The death of his mother was something distant, just a fact about himself rather than an open wound. He has no idea how to cope with any of this except by just trying to power through it with a smile on his face and by this point it is abundantly clear that approach is untenable.]

Well. Nobody said you don't have to feel like garbage. I mean. I think feeling like garbage is about right for right now. We can feel like garbage together and go from there?

cw: animal death ment

[bayoublues]

[As the future kids would say, big mood.

He thought, for a long time, that the most horrific thing that could happen to him was being shot and left for dead in the middle of the bayou. If he was lucky, he'd only see the skeletons that remained of his brethren. If he wasn't as lucky, he'd see the corpses of gators, bloated with swampwater, washed up on the riverbanks. Not that he ever really felt a kinship towards them, but it really put his own mortality into perspective. And then he'd just play his troubles away with some light jazz. The same with Ray's death--sure, it had hit him pretty hard, but he felt better knowing that he had joined the love of his life in the stars.

As the weeks wore on, it was abundantly clear that there were worse fates than being shot at from a boat or being crushed under Facilier's foot.]

Yeah. I think I'd like to feel about garbage for a little bit. [He pauses.] Feelin' like garbage is where blues comes from, man. Dunno how they manage to come up with this stuff without burtin' into tears half the time.

[holdthetrumpet]

[Blues like -- like music. Sure. He's learning more and more the longer he's here, he kind of has a better grasp on things by now. To a degree.]

Maybe doing the blues is what keeps them from breaking down?

[Doing the blues is the correct way to say that, right.]

Putting it into something else, I mean.

[If he was familiar with the idea of recycling this would be a great metaphor but he's not.]

[bayoublues]

Yeah. Playin' the blues.

[He gently corrects Kit--he doesn't want this dude to get more upset about messing things up.]

Just...channelin' that hollowness into something to make it...less hollow, I guess. I dunno if it'd be an appropriate thing to play right now, though. I mean, I left my trumpet in the music room. And, y'know, I don't wanna bother people while they're grieving.